These streets are haunted to me.
There is a grungy reminder that impresses a residue of darkness deep into my kidneys.
I can fancy myself with the notion.. I am a third generation NYer.
I can pride myself in being able to capture it in multi-dimensions in a single frame and keep up with the pace.
the reality though--is far from it.
Plant my in greener pastures far removed from the hurdle masses.
Keep my lens illuminated with sunlight and rain not poisoned on its way down into my synapse.
*
These streets are haunting to me...
True --the romantic idea of kindred souls having walked the path my soles might get calloused upon --is just that-however--
surviving on slivers of light in tenement dwelling is like setting a giraffe up in a zoo.
*
Come Augusts fin----Our Southern stint proceeds towards its end.
The night of the iguana and Hemingway tales this was not.
But --we human adapt. We learn to see beyond the annoying elements of our existence to survive. Begrudgingly existing anywhere does nothing to the spirit.
I am homesick...its true. Not for a city that never sleeps--but for the embodiment of the word.
I cannot resist 'going back.' its practical.
I cannot resist change yet once more to these here fragile roots---think a Tree grows in Brooklyn. Get your roots well thriving and they cut you down.
To be able to break up cemented realities would be an excellent way to make my roots realize their potential...but yet...that seems unnerving to wee bit fragile strings.
*
Theres a nicotine stain that filters my perception on this town...
I hate that colour...that odor that vibe.
The disheartening remnants of paintings removed ---memories defined only by cleaner rectangular impressions that highlight the negative space of decay.
